


Ai Lian Shuo ‹愛蓮說›

by kunshi_sekijou



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Analytical conversations, Drabble Collection, M/M, Nonsense, lengthy dialogues, paragraphs what paragraphs, writing style what writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunshi_sekijou/pseuds/kunshi_sekijou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His life composed on paper, blown to disarray by the wind. The fragments pieced together to form a mirror. His imperfect reflection mocked him and his absurd tendencies.</p><p>Yanagi-centric drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ai Lian Shuo ‹愛蓮說›

**Author's Note:**

> Deeply inspired by _Zen Flesh, Zen Bones_. It is such a good book to carry around. Each little story takes like a minute or two to read, but you can ponder the underlying morals and meanings for hours.
> 
> The title, Ai Lian Shuo, refers to the title of an essay composed by Song dynasty Chinese Neo-Confucian philosopher, Zhou Dunyi, in which he celebrates the purity of the lotus blossom. 
> 
> Originally posted on ff.net as _Fragments of Irony_.

**1\. Beloved**

* * *

  **NOTE:** One-sided (?) Akaya x Yanagi.

* * *

In terms of habit and development, Akaya was much like the teenage boys of his age.

He first began to notice the opposite sex when he entered junior high school.

There would be a certain girl who catches his eye. He would then approach her and begin a conversation. If she interested him enough, he would seek her out to talk more.

Yet, that would be the most he got accomplished. Because the girls who interested him always ended up liking someone else, or moving away, or becoming something else once he got to know them.

So, he sought out another girl, and another, and another.

The cycle of perpetual loss continued.

For some reason, it really didn't bother him that much.

That was until Akaya met Yanagi Renji in the tennis club.

The other was not the type he would be interested in initially. He was too quiet, too calm, too mature.

And Akaya thought, it would be impossible to begin a conversation with the other, let alone to hold one with him.

Yet, they were in the same tennis club and on the same team. It was certain that they would interact at some point or another.

They did.

What first began as simple greetings between two people grew to coincidental encounters in the hallway, in the library, and in the cafeteria. Soon, they were having appointed meetings outside of school to discuss tennis tactics, class notes, and exam highlights. Sometimes, when they had extra time, they would even go to arcades and bookstores together.

Within the two years of his junior high school experience, they grew from strangers, to teammates, to something that could vaguely be called friends. Or even something beyond that, he added mentally to himself.

Akaya never thought he would give so much attention to a member of his gender.

And like the girls who interested and caught his attention in the past, his Yanagi-senpai was soon graduating, soon leaving him.

He wondered then, once the other graduates, would he, like before, just seek out another and value him/her with the same amount of care he gave the other now?

* * *

**2\. Severed**

* * *

  **NOTES:** AU. Cheesiness. Sanada-Yukimura-Yanagi.

* * *

 **[BGM: TVXQ -** "Sennen Koi Uta" **]**

A long time ago in Kanagawa, three friends lived together in a small wooden cottage atop Rikkai Mountain.

The oldest of the three was named Yukimura Seiichi. He had a single hobby of creating music on his biwa.

Then, there was Sanada Genichirou. His interest, like the other, was to create music, to create song. However, he did this not with a musical instrument, but with his sword.

The youngest of them all was Yanagi Renji. He differed from his two friends in that he neither played an instrument nor wielded a sword. He listened well, for his loss of sight from a childhood accident, in turn, sharpened his hearing.

Even with his single disability, Yanagi still held a special place in their trio. For his hearing had been so keen that it caught every flaw, however tiny and dismissible it was, during their practices. He gave them valuable advice on improvement.

It was because of Yanagi, that Yukimura reached his full potential as a musician.

When Yukimura played songs of the calm river and the energetic waterfall, Yanagi felt himself become a single droplet of water being carried in the lazy river current, then being pushed off a cliff at the edge of the waterfall to drop down and down into the deep pool beneath.

When Yukimura played melodies of remembrance, the images of childhood rose from Yanagi's memories, and his heart staggered unsteadily from being intoxicated by nostalgia.

Of course, Yanagi did not only help Yukimura improve his biwa playing. He helped Sanada improve his swordplay as well.

It was because of Yanagi, that Sanada reached his full potential as a swordsman.

When Sanada hustled to the tempo of the wind, Yanagi imagined himself as a delicate blossom of spring, blown to pieces by the sharp gale.

When Sanada crept to the silence of the forest, Yanagi felt as if he had been strolling along a trail, the maples trees around him painted the color of bright autumn.

When Sanada danced to the beat of fire, Yanagi melted from the heat of mid-summer.

When Sanada rooted himself like a mountain to the ground, Yanagi became the ice and snow lying frozen atop the cliffs in winter.

Sometimes, Yanagi sat and listened to the harmonic music his two friends created together. And Yanagi felt himself being basked in eternal light, as if he had already died and ascended to heaven.

Because of the two, Yanagi not only mastered the technique of perfect hearing, but also became exceptional at imagining and reminiscing. His environment, his childhood days could not be any more vivid in his mind.

He was forever grateful of his two companions.

Unfortunately, the trio's peaceful and happy days ended shortly when Yanagi fell sick from terminal illness and passed away.

Soon afterwards, Yukimura cut the strings of his beloved biwa. He would never play again, for he thought, he will never find another listener as skilled as his dead companion.

Sanada, too, broke his beloved sword. He would never dance again, for he thought, he will never establish such a close bond with another, even if he were to find a better listener.

The two agreed upon burying their companion in the small, fishless lake near their wooden cottage.

Yet, as they lowered their companion's body into the freezing waters of winter, they found themselves unable to let the other go, unable to let their love go.

They resolved to follow the other to the afterworld.

Their bodies sank to the bottom of the lake as they lay down beside the other. They held his hands. Even in death, their grip on the other's hands did not loosen.

Winter came and went. But the lake, miraculously, never defrosted.

It preserved their bodies, as well as their love beneath, eternally.

* * *

 Their feet were rooted to the ground ever since they laid their eyes upon the piece before them.

The ice that endured sunlight and rainfall became clear, crystal quartz. Within the giant crystal boulder, the figures of three skeletons stood side by side. The two skeletons on both sides held the middle skeleton's hands. Their fingers were laced together.

It was easy to conclude from the structure and height, that the skeletons belonged to three males in the past.

He continued staring, staring until an unfamiliar sadness surfaced within him like a tide rising in the ocean. It rose so high that he felt it uncomfortably at his throat, in his nose, and within his eyes, where it condensed itself into a single salty droplet breaking away from an eye corner and descending down the plain of his cheek.

What was it about this piece that was moving him so?

He did not know.

His companions beside him grabbed his hands, disregarding the fact that they were now in a museum; they were in public.

He looked to his right and saw Seiichi's comforting smile.

He looked to his left and saw the line of worry carved deeply between Genichirou's brows.

He shook his head, squeezing their hands. It was nothing.

When they lifted their eyes to the frozen scene before them again, they felt as if they were staring into a mirror.

Yet, they did not know whether it reflected their past or their future.

* * *

**3\. With This Hand**

* * *

  **NOTES:** Inui & Yanagi friendship (or more, you decide). Inui POV.

* * *

Framed, in his tennis bag, was the single captured moment of his elementary school tennis life.

It was a moment he shared with his friend, his doubles partner.

In the picture, both of them held on tightly to the gold medal they wore around their necks. Those were the awards they received to compliment their outstanding partnership. And, as excited and proud as they were, they did not disregard the foundations on which they built their victories.

That was their friendship.

That was evident in the picture, in the single captured moment of their elementary school tennis life.

That was when they held hands.

That was when it was natural for them to do so, when their close companionship established such a contact.

Then, that was when the other left without warning, aborting their friendship.

As he counted each day of the other's absence, he was also counting the time in which he has not held the other's hand.

Finally, after four years, two months, and fifteen days later, he re-encountered the other.

Yet, their roles have been altered as they stood before each other in this familiar place on the tennis court after four years, two months, and fifteen days.

That was why, when he held the other's hand again in a loose handshake, there was no relief knowing the other would be there to support him, no happiness realizing that he could have someone to share so much of himself with, no excitement believing they could win every match, and no optimism imagining their eternal companionship.

That was all in the past.

That was why, when he held the other's hand now, he held it with rigid formality.

They were rivals now.

* * *

**4\. Unlove**

* * *

  **NOTES:** Future timeline. Cohabitation. Akaya x Yanagi. Externally inexpressive & internally sensitive Yanagi.

* * *

_Dysfunctional relationships form when one fails to express just how important his partner is to him._

…

"Let's end our relationship, Yanagi-senpai. I'm in love with someone else now."

After their years of companionship through high school and through college, through passion and stagnation, he finally brought up such a request.

He watched the other's countenance carefully as they sat, face-to-face, in the living room. The other assembled himself like a cold statue: hands folded neatly at his lap, back completely straight, neck at a neutral angle and eyes staring straight ahead.

The other was completely unmoved, his calm composure entirely flawless.

As he watched him still, he also pondered the absurdity of the entire situation. The person, the statue, is, _was_ who he fell in love with so many years ago.

Now that he thought about it, it seemed like it was a long time ago.

He could not remember what it was about the other that first interested him.

It was perhaps the other's calm, flawless composure. Since the law of attraction was opposite attraction, maybe it was his childish immaturity that drew him to the other. And now that he is grown and mature, the other's heavy logic and cool composure no longer drew him because the law of attraction no longer applied to their relationship.

Now, because they are both adults, because they are both well-established, perhaps they are repelled by each other's similarity.

As he looked at the other's exposed amber eyes, all he sees is complete emotional control. It felt as if his endless pestering in the past for the other to keep his eyes opened to him suddenly became pointless and stupid. There was no difference between the other's eyes, closed or opened.

Whoever made the statement about one's eyes being the windows to one's soul, he thought in disapproval, was such a liar.

At least, it did not seem to apply to the other.

"Did you hear what I said, Yanagi-senpai?" The other's inaction made him question.

"Aa." Came the plain reply.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"If that is so, then so be it." The other's apathetic voice matched his aloofness.

The other did not care, he wanted to laugh. The other did not even care enough to ask him to reconsider, to hold him back, to attempt to save their dying relationship.

"In that case," he rose promptly from his seat, "I'll be staying over at her place tonight. I'll be back for my things tomorrow."

The lightness of his voice contradicted the irritation and disappointment flooding him inside. That was all his heart was pumping through the blood vessels of his body: irritation and disappointment.

"Aa. Tomorrow, then." The other confirmed flatly.

Finally, with his back turned to the other, he rolled his eyes on his way out the door.

He did not turn around to look at the other as he usually did when they bid each other farewell at the door.

The door closed behind him.

He stopped. He waited.

Once the effects of irritation and disappointment wore off, anxiety settled into his system, prickling his nerves.

He waited.

He mentally counted away the amount of time he would dedicate to waiting, waiting for the right moment.

That right moment arrived about fifteen minutes later.

From the same spot he had been standing in, he pivoted around, placed a hand on the door handle and turned it slowly.

It was unlocked.

Once he turned it to the end, he pushed the door open slowly, bit by bit.

He was finally greeted with the sight of the other, rooted to the ground in the same exact spot he stood when he saw him off fifteen minutes ago.

He was taken aback when the other raised his head to meet his gaze.

He witnessed the image of a crumbling statue, of destroyed perfection.

There were wet streaks along the plains of the other's cheeks. A grim line had settled between the other's lips. A deep line wrinkled the space between his fine brows.

But those were not most important details to him.

He saw the other's eyes, the windows revealing his soul, shimmering to misty sadness.

It was such detail that allowed him to assume, to conclude that, yes, their relationship did matter to the other.

It was a sight that he had wanted to see for years.

The other, acknowledging his prying stare, turned away, as if the act itself was enough to hide him away from him and deny him in such a ruined and crumbling state.

"Senpai." He called to him, reaching out.

When his fingers brushed against his shoulders, he felt the other tremble like a willow in the wind, shivering like the delicate tree in his name.

"Why did you come back?" The other's instable voice revealed his weakness.

He took him into the sanctuary of his embrace then. Never before had the other felt so small in his arms.

It seemed to have a calming effect on the other.

"I lied, senpai. There is no other woman."

"Then…it was a hoax."

"…Yes…"

The other let out a shaky breath.

"It would have been better if you really did fall in love with another woman. That way, I do not have to feel so guilty about our relationship. That way, I can forgive myself for making you into who you have become."

"You know, senpai." He pulled away from the other to look into his eyes again. "That is the one thing beside your apathy that I dislike about you. You have to let go of the idea that you have ruined my life just because you had an influence on my sexuality… God… I'm not even gay, because you're the only guy I'm interested in!"

How strange it was, speaking in a stern voice to the other now. It felt like a role reversal. While the other had always been the guardian figure, guiding him and scolding him in the past, it appeared as if he had taken on the other's past role, and the other, his.

The other accepted his admonishment in silence, like a proper child.

He sighed, his hands reached out to cradle the other's cheeks.

"Senpai, I'm going to ask you once and only once… Will you show me more of your emotions from now on? Show me how you feel, 'cause I'm a really bad mind reader."

"…"

"If you don't say anything, then I'll take your silence as consent."

He leaned in to caress the other's lips with his in a comforting manner.

He tasted the remnants of the other's salty regret.

He remembered the taste.

* * *

**5\. Eclipsed**

* * *

**NOTES:** Future timeline. Akaya x Yanagi through a John Doe's third person POV. Continuation of the previous piece?

* * *

_He didn't know because he never considered the possibility of it._

…

He didn't know if he was being overly sensitive or not.

Ever since the approval of same-gender marriage in Japan, he began noticing more same-gender couples in his neighborhood.

Women with women. Men with men. Walking with shoulders brushing together intimately. Holding hands. Whispering tender secrets into each other's ears.

He rarely saw women with men now. Or maybe, it was just a matter of selective attention: he focused more on the same-gender couples as an attempt to adjust himself to their existence, to the change that is taking place now.

He was just ambivalent about such a change.

Part of him was willing to accept the new law. Of course, since it did not pertain to him. He simply thought, if he was allowed to marry and start a family, then why couldn't others as well?

Then, there was also that part of him that was traditional and conservative. That part of him didn't understand homosexuality. Wasn't it better if men and women just got married and procreated? If he loved his wife and had children with her, why couldn't other men just be like him? If his wife loved him and bore children for him, why couldn't other women be just like her?

He sighed. Maybe he was asking for too much. Maybe it wasn't fair to ask everyone to be just like him, or be just like his wife.

Or maybe, he was just feeling lonely. For, he was one of the few remaining men in his neighborhood with a normal family.

It was then, as he mourned his isolation, that he remembered his neighbor, that college professor who lived alone. The thought of the other became the single thread he held onto to stay connected to the world he came to know.

He recalled the numerous visits an attractive woman paid to their small neighborhood. He considered the air of intimacy between her and his college professor neighbor: the comfort they shared in their natural contacts, the subtle affections embedded in their conversations. They reminded him of his own youth, when he first began a romantic relationship with the girl who is presently his wife.

He also noted their similar appeal: tall and slender with well-toned skin and fine facial features. People always said that one always ended up looking like the one he loved most.

It was through their closeness that he realized the meaning of such a saying.

…

That evening, while on his way home after work, he encountered a familiar face in his path.

It was his college professor neighbor. When he greeted the other, he noticed the youth beside him with a head full of messy dark hair carrying an oversized tennis bag over one shoulder. The two of them were the same height.

He sighed inwardly. Nowadays, children were growing up to be so tall and strong that made an aging man like him feel weak and old.

Outwardly, he smiled at them politely and asked. "And might this be one of your students, Yanagi-kun?"

The other returned his answer respectfully. "He is my kouhai from high school."

He nodded, comprehending. The youth flashed him a bright and open grin when he looked at him again.

There was a sense of familiarity rising within him, but he could not recall where he had seen this youth previously.

After a short period of small talk, they bid each other farewell and returned to their houses.

The entire time as he went through the range of motion of pulling out his keys, of unlocking the door, of entering and greeting his waiting wife, he thought of the cheerful youth with the familiar face.

There was no doubt he knew the other: his daredevil eyes, his cocky smile, the rippling of muscles in his arms and sweat running down his face.

He saw it then, the image that solved his mystery.

The youth's image was printed on the poster hanging on the wall in his daughter's room.

The other's name was printed across the bottom in bold black letters.

"Kirihara Akaya." The youth was a pro-tennis player.

And, as if meeting the athlete in person and having his image hung up on the wall was not enough, he saw the other on the television as he flipped through the channels that night.

The athlete was being interviewed by a reporter.

" _Rumor has it that you were married recently."_

The subject the reporter brought up interested him enough for him to stay tuned. He dropped the remote and picked up his tea cup, sipping carefully.

On the screen, the youth scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed.

" _I guess it's not a secret anymore."_ With a strong tug, he pulled someone from behind him into the camera's focus. _"This is my newlywed…partner…"_

The youth chose his term carefully after a slight hesitation.

It was another familiar face.

It was the face of his calm, polite, soft-spoken college professor neighbor.

Surprised, he dropped his cup of hot tea.

"Ack!"

* * *

**Explanation:**

If there is a theme to this piece, then it is superficiality vs the deeper truth.

Ironically, the woman who he saw Yanagi with is actually Yanagi's sister. Also, Akaya is referred to as "the youth" because he just _appears_ to be a lot younger than Yanagi (while in reality, their age is merely a year apart).

This was inspired by an article I read revealing all the famous Asian BL writers' occupations in reality. Some were teachers and doctors. Man, was I surprised. That just proves that you can't really judge something from its appearance.

And no, same-gender marriages have not been approved in Japan. Yet.

* * *

**6\. Blaze**

* * *

  **NOTE:** Potential Sanada x Yanagi.

* * *

October.

The remnants of the passing summer heat became a flame that set the leaves on trees ablaze. The sight of the burning maple leaves warmed them. And it, along with the thin jackets they began putting on, gave them the feeling that winter was still faraway.

They walked home together, admiring the autumn scenery. Yet, autumn was not the only thing his gaze captured and admired.

Walking beside his companion, Renji's sight caught the other's side portrait as he looked ahead. The angles and lines that produced such a portrait were all sharp and distinct, just like the other's character.

Renji's gaze returned to the view before him. When he saw a particularly outstanding crimson maple leaf in a sea of oranges and yellows, he reached out instinctively and plucked it from a tree branch.

He stopped walking entirely, as if to fully examine the simple object.

"Wait, Genichirou."

The other stopped walking and turned to him.

"What is it?"

Renji did not answer him immediately. He was still concentrating on the leaf his two fingers held at the thin stem. The angles and lines that produced the leaf were sharp and distinct as well. And because its color was so vivid and bright, it drew attention quite easily.

The leaf reminded him much of the other. Perhaps that was what made him pick the leaf off the tree in the first place. He finally looked over to his companion. What he saw was enough to weaken his heart and render him breathless - the sight of Sanada Genichirou against the sea of warm-colored maple leaves and the orange sun setting in the distant horizon.

As beautiful as the autumn scenery was, his eyes easily forsaken and denied all of its glory when the other stood before him.

He thought Sanada Genichirou was too much like the leaf in his hand; both were as bright and eye-catching as fire.

If he reached out to touch the other, would he be burned mercilessly and be reduced to ashes? Perhaps. Yet, he cannot help but become a moth drawing blindly near the flame's captivating glow.

He opened his eyes to that beauty. He revealed to the other the gentle amber depths unseen by many.

And he made his confession.

* * *

**7\. "Ren"**

* * *

**NOTE:** Potential Sanada x Yanagi.

* * *

It was another Sunday morning.

It was another morning of calligraphy practice.

He, dressed in a blue kimono, sat kneeling before a low study table. A thin sheet of white rice paper laid flat on the table top.

He stared at it.

The paper was completely blank.

His mind was completely blank.

The hand that supported the ink-saturated calligraphy brush hovered over the paper motionless.

During a time like this, when his eyes could not draw inspiration from the nothingness in his mind, there was only one thing left for him to rely on.

He closed his eyes. He sent his heart out for inspiration.

It would know what he desired to compose. It would know what is most fitting for this piece of paper.

Soon, his hand began moving. The calligraphy brush he held began tracing its journey on the paper.

A stroke across. Two strokes down. Another stroke across…

Strangely, it did not feel as if he was writing in his native language. Instead, he felt himself become an artist whose brushstrokes followed the flow of the river.

His hand only stopped when his brush ended the river flow sharply.

Withdrawing his brush from the paper surface, he opened his eyes slowly.

What he saw surprised him.

That single character blossomed in amid the white.

"Ren." Lotus.

It took up almost the entirety of the paper.

It took up almost the entirety of his field of vision.

"Ren."

Only he knew what it referred to exactly.

Only he knew who it referred to exactly.

As he stared at the single character before his eyes, he felt his mouth dry up the same way when that person was near.

There was a tap on his door.

"Genichirou."

He froze. It was that voice.

Perhaps, all had been a premonition.

"May I come in?"

He answered quickly. "A-aa…"

Dropping the brush, he hastily crumpled up the paper and hid it in a kimono sleeve.

The door slid open slowly. The other entered garbed in formal kimono as well.

His companion closed the door, then lowered himself down before him gracefully.

"Shall we begin?"

He shifted awkwardly, adjusting his posture so that his back became more erect.

"Aa."

It was another Sunday morning.

It was another morning of calligraphy practice for him and his companion.

Except, the crumpled up piece of paper was not another sheet of paper he tossed away after practice.

He kept it.

* * *

**8.** **Wish**

* * *

**NOTES:** One-sided Akaya x Yanagi. Analytical conversation. May be confusing. 

* * *

After much pestering and pleading, Akaya finally convinced the other to walk home with him after club activities.

It was then that he showed the other the wishing stone his sister had given him for his birthday a few days ago.

"Clear quartz, is it." The other held it to the distant horizon, as if attempting to magnify the setting sun.

"Yeah…" He was too preoccupied with the image before his eyes to give an elaborate reply. The magnificent glory of the sun not only lit the horizon, but also seeped through the clear stone to paint the other's skin with a nostalgic orange shade.

"…Akaya."

Before he knew it, the stone was offered him again as it replaced the other's brilliance in his field of vision.

"…A-aa… Thanks, Yanagi-senpai." He accepted it back, enclosing his fingers around it tightly as if wringing embarrassment from his system.

To hide his discomfort, he began ranting about all the superstitions his sister had told him regarding the wishing stone. In his nervousness, he had also accidentally included his wish, that secret desire that no one was supposed to know about because it jeopardized his masculinity, into their conversation.

His wish was for true companionship.

But of course, he did not include his desired subject into his speech. He caught himself quickly before it slipped out.

After a brief moment of awkward silence, the other spoke.

"You wish for a relationship because you are solo right now." He said. "Yet, if you were in a relationship right now, you may wish to be solo again. The human nature is full of contradictions and ironies."

"You don't understand, Yanagi-senpai." He objected almost immediately. He would not allow his wish, the secret that had been gnawing at his conscience ever since its birth, to be called a lie, a phase. It was real, just as his discomfort at hiding the secret was real. "You're only saying that because being in a relationship is not important to you. You don't understand what it is like for me to want to be with someone who doesn't know…"

"True… Perhaps, I am speaking too generally, and have failed to examine things from your perspective." Unlike the many other times when the other scolded him for being immature, this time, the other agreed to his complaints without much argument. "Maybe I do not understand what you are experiencing, but I do know, I have, too, wished for a deep and understanding relationship countless times."

He was surprised. That meant that his Yanagi-senpai wanted the same thing he did.

Perhaps there was hope for the other to understand. Maybe the other would even accept his confession.

"That was when I was alone, by myself. I wanted a companion, someone who I could discuss my data with, and share similarities and differences with. Then, I attend class and go to tennis practice, and the classmates and friends who surround me give me no time to think of that secret wish. Actually, there is no need for me to think of that secret wish. I already have so many people to talk to. And the thought of having another companion to talk to overwhelms me, for I have already exhausted myself in talking to so many people."

"But can't you say that the other people have distracted you from your true intention? Can't you say that the relief from loneliness, from the wish of having that one special companion is only temporary? It is not even true relief!" Akaya protested.

"Perhaps. But how will your mind distinguish between true relief and false relief? If you claim that the relief you obtain from classmates and friends is false relief, then what is true relief? You have never experienced true relief, so how will you know what true relief is?"

"I'll know when I find it!" He exclaimed with confidence.

Yanagi smiled in irony at that statement.

Such was a smile that he hated to see upon the other's lips. Even though it had a smile's physical components, it could not be called a smile. A true smile was bright and heart-warming. This was cold and it made him shiver subconsciously.

"Suppose you do find that true relief you were looking for with that true companion of yours, then. How will you guarantee that one day, you will not find a better companion and feel more relieved than you were with this 'true companion' you were with?"

"You're not making any sense here, Yanagi-senpai. If I have already found true relief with my true companion, why would I even bother looking for another companion? I wouldn't even begin the search for another companion!"

"That is because you have dismissed the factor of time, and the factor of change. Your true companion will remain to be your true companion only if time does not change, you do not change and neither does your true companion change." He looked at him. "When time changes, and you and your companion change along with it, is your love for each other not subject to change as well?"

"Then, if we do change, we will just have to get use to it!" He concluded. He wanted it to be the end of the conversation.

The other nodded plainly as if accepting his conclusion. Then, he added. "However, keep in mind also, that one is bound to lose something in every change. If you do not end up losing that person, then perhaps, you will end up losing a part of that relief, that love, you had for that person."

He paused.

"Then, over time, as that relief, that love, slowly diminishes, that precious companion of yours becomes from a soul mate to a confidant to a friend to an acquaintance, and finally, to a stranger."

Even at the end of their discussion when each of them split at a crossroad to go separate ways home, he wanted to continue the conversation, to argue with the other about his ideas.

The other's view on love was very pessimistic. He know it is because of that certain someone in the other's past that has affected him on such a view.

He wanted to tell the other to forget about that someone from his past. He wanted him to forget that person and start anew, this time with another, with him.

Yet, after much internal conflict, he still did not make the verbal proposal.

He knew, the other would not contribute his one-hundred percent effort at maintaining their relationship if they were to have one, for the other's prejudice would prevent him from doing so.

Later on, after that day, after the other's graduation from junior high, whenever he opened the box to look at the wishing stone, he always thought about the wish that he had planned to use the stone for. The wish he wanted to make. The wish he never made.

And he wondered, if he had made that wish in the past, would it have come true?

If he had made that wish in the past, in the future which was the present now, as he studied the wishing stone again, would he be satisfied with his decision, or would he end up regretting not using the stone for another wish?

* * *

**9\. Moon Shadow**

* * *

**NOTES:** Future fic. Pre-college. Yukimura & Sanada x Yanagi. Somewhat strange.

* * *

_Sometimes when life becomes too overwhelming, all you want to do is run away._

_Sometimes, as adequate and perfect as you are, you still view yourself as a failure._

_The moon, as luminous and flawless as it appears, is still full of craters._

...

One night, on the summer he was supposed to leave home for college with his two confidants, he fell asleep dreaming a vivid and extended dream.

In that dream, he never rose from his slumber the next morning.

His sleep continued through the morning, quickly reaching its height at noon. By then, his unique situation attracted his mother's investigation. She arrived at his room to wake him, to rouse her self-sufficient son who had not required such help since second grade.

But, of course, he did not awake. He wanted to continue dreaming.

He wanted to know, what would happen next in the reality that was so real yet so unbelievable?

His mother, convinced a serious issue had altered his state of health, ended up calling the doctor and stirring up the house.

The doctor was not the only one examining him when he arrived. He had his whole family fussing over him as well. He wanted to tell them, he was still alive, there was no need to get so worried. He was just dreaming, and they were all just a part of it.

The physician performed a complete physical on him. He did not find any abnormalities.

That was as expected. After all, he was healthy. At least, he knew, he was, physically. He rarely fell ill.

The doctor concluded his examination: It must be a psychological problem. Stress is having an adverse effect on his mind. As a result, he is attempting to cope through deep sleep. Provide him with active stimuli; talk to him. Have his friends console him. That way, he has a better chance at waking as soon as possible.

He slept on after the doctor's departure. The day passed quickly.

The next day, his mother came again to rouse him.

He still did not awake. He continued dreaming.

He slept on peacefully. Though, subconsciously, he was wide awake. His subconscious watched the scene in his room coolly, as if it was merely a movie, as if it did not personally matter.

His physical body slept on, complying with the will of his subconscious. His secret wish was to sleep on. Just sleep on.

His mother resorted to calling his two best friends who he was supposed to attend college together with.

Seiichi and Genichirou.

The two talked to him, persuading him to wake up, convincing him to stop dreaming.

They were beside him the entire day. He did not wake up. He wanted them to give up. To give up and go home, go to college without him.

Don't put so much hope in him. Just confirm his doubts. Just confirm that there is no way he would adapt to their new life. There was no way he can survive without his parents' guidance.

Just let him sleep on, so he would not have to leave this comforting place, this peaceful place, this heavenly place.

Much to his disappointment, however, his friends did not give up.

They came, the next day and the next day following, surprisingly persistent and patient with waking him.

Even as his dream gradually lost color and clarity, he felt their presence too clearly. They became the tell-tale shadows looming over him.

Once he could no longer distinguish their shadows from the environment that was gradually dimming, the environment that was slowly turning into the ocean depths he felt like he was being dragged into, then, perhaps, there would not be a need to open his eyes ever again.

That was most ideal.

Yet, his friends seemed to think otherwise.

Their words were the magical spells that summoned his consciousness.

_"Wake up."_

_"Renji."_

_"Stop running away."_

_"You are not leaving us behind."_

_"You promised we would all attend the same university, Renji."_

_"You promised."_

_"Don't be afraid."_

_"We are here."_

_"We are here, Renji."_

Oh really, he wanted to counter. For how long?

For as long as his family will be there? Or, as long as Sadaharu was there?

_"We are here, Renji."_

_"We can't guarantee you forever. That's unrealistic."_

_"We will be here..."_

_"..For as long as we can."_

And finally... That was enough to convince him.

When he awoke from that long, vivid dream, opening his sore eyes to the troubled faces of his two confidants, he knew that the dream that he had all this time was no dream.

It was reality.

* * *

Renji sat on his futon. His friend, Seiichi, sat beside him, watching him.

Renji ate breakfast from the tray on his lap slowly in silence. It has been days since his last meal.

His friend broke through his silent denial.

"Why did you run away?"

Renji stopped eating. The spoon he picked up stopped before his mouth. He froze.

"We were here for you. We treasured you for everything you were. We gave you plenty of space without suffocating you. So, tell me, what was it that made you still want to run away?"

"...Do not tell me that you did not know, Seiichi." Renji sighed, putting the spoon back into the bowl. "Love can be a burden. Your consideration, your company were getting to be too much."

He was pushing the other back. Back from his deeper self, back from his vulnerability. They were too close. He felt almost uncomfortable with that closeness.

The image of his former doubles partner from elementary school crossed his mind. And he decided, yes, the three of them now, were definitely getting too close.

"As careful as you are with your feelings, you cannot help but burden someone with them."

"But I also know," Seiichi shot in, refusing to back down and accept the other's claim, "someone who says such a thing is insecure about his relationship."

He drew close to him, looking at him as if staring through the shield of concealing eyelids and directly into his eyes.

"You would only say that we're giving you too much because you're afraid our affections are illusions. You claim that we are too close because you are afraid that this closeness between us will one day hinder you and make it harder for you to leave us behind, should you become the one to depart."

The other's words reminded him just how much they were really alike sometimes. They both had physical appeal which contradicted their inner natures.

Completely contradictory to the other's fragile and innocuous appearance was the other's keen insight that saw to the psychology of the human mind. While, Renji appeared aloof and rational, he had a secret part of himself who was sensitive and vulnerable.

And perhaps, it was in that single similarity that they could see past each other's outer presentation so easily.

Perhaps, that was why they were so close.

"Your departure in the past from your former best friend was out of your control. You had no choice but to leave him, leave your partnership with him, because at that age, your parents were your primary decision makers. Your escape from reality was from your fear that such a separation would repeat itself."

As the other verbalized his observations, the other did not seek for him to confirm his analysis. The other was not hypothesizing. The other was telling him what he knew about him.

The rare disquiet shifting within him confirmed the other's words.

Perhaps this was the reason Yukimura Seiichi was Rikkai's team captain. This was the reason behind the other's tennis excellence. The other was able to observe and analyze not only his opponents' moves, but also the motives behind their actions.

"But do you realize how different the time is now? You are grown and mature. At such an age, your parents are no longer your decision makers. Therefore, who you part with and who you remain with are not up to them any longer. You are no longer the victim of situation. If the three of us want to remain together, then we have to make the most effort to remain together."

The other's hand reached out to touch his cheek.

"That's why, you can't back down now, Renji. When we agreed to attend the same university together, there is no going back, even when you're having doubts about such a decision last minute."

The other closed the distance between them until his lips brushed against his lightly.

"Your future is ours. And our future is yours."

Seiichi pressed firmly against his lips this time.

And he thought, with the other's reassurance, perhaps there really isn't anything to worry about.

* * *

His usual life resumed soon enough.

The day after his conversation with Seiichi, he received an individualized visit from his other confidant, Genichirou.

Their reunion took place in his tea room.

Renji concentrated on conducting the tea ceremony. As much as he mingled with tranquility, the substance of the other's brooding aura still affected him somehow.

He knew, their meeting was not as simple as a tea tasting.

The stiffness in the other's posture, the tightness of the other's closed fists upon his thighs and the firmness in the other's gaze as he peered forward, staring at him, the focus point in his field of vision.

The other received and finished the bowl of frothy mixture in deliberate segmented sips.

The empty vessel was then returned to him for final cleaning.

They remained silent through the entire process.

Afterwards, there was silence, silence and more silence.

He sat with his eyes closed. His eyelids acted as a shield, denying the existence of the environment around him, denying the overwhelming power the other's presence exerted upon him.

If he could not see the other, the other could not see him either.

Even though, the law of object permanence said so otherwise.

He did not know how much time passed since they sat in such a way. There were boundaries they could not cross. There were feelings they could not surpass.

What was stress? What was fear? What was insecurity?

Those were the things men should not speak of. Those were the things men were not supposed to feel. The other was a firm believer of such principles.

If they could talk, if they could communicate and break through this heavy silence and address the problem, then maybe they would reach to a conclusion.

But doing so would put the manhood the other valued so much at risk, would it not?

In poverty of choices, he waited. In silence.

Then, finally.

"What were you thinking?" The other's voice was heavier than usual. Perhaps it was because he was attempting to suppress his anger.

"Too many things." It was the truth. He was not attempting to be sarcastic.

"That is not an adequate explanation."

"…" He knew it was not. Maybe he was just trying to make an excuse for himself.

What was stress? What was fear? What was insecurity?

Those were the things men should not speak of. Those were the things men were not supposed to feel. Such things made a man weak and killed his motivation to push forward in life.

The other was a firm believer of such principles. That was what made the other different from Seiichi.

While he needed someone to talk with about his problems, he also needed someone to tell him to let the past go, let his problems go. That way he can continue on with life.

"What right do you have to run away, to give up on us, when we have not, for once, given up on you?" The essential question. One that the other was not seeking an answer to because no answer would satisfy him. "The three of us made an agreement to remain together. If you cannot keep your part of the agreement, then you shouldn't have made it in the first place."

"..." The other's words were rarely warm, but perhaps, it was his admonishment that he really needed right now. It would, along with Seiichi's scolding, awaken him and dispel the last trace of delusion and restore his insight to its usual keenness.

So, he accepted the other's scolding humbly with a lowered gaze.

"Don't let me catch you making the same mistake." The other raised his hand, closed it to form a fist, and touched it against his cheek. "You know the consequences for unacceptable behavior."

"Aa. I understand." There was no doubt how much he knows about the other's punishment after being the witness to it for so many times before.

The other nodded solemnly.

The fist against his cheek opened again, and his fingers gripped at his chin.

Then, Genichirou leaned in, pressing his lips against his firmly.

The last trace of the other's anger became the warmth of the other's soft structures that contradicted the coldness of his words.

It was just the other's way of telling him, that he, like Seiichi, had missed him.

That was just the other's style.

* * *

**10\. Letter to Nobody**

* * *

**NOTES:** In memory of the March 11th earthquake and tsunami.Akaya to Yanagi. Informal grammar.

* * *

Writing the letter became the last resort for him.

It was the final solution he arrived at after dialing that all too familiar number and getting no service. The robot's monotonous voice rejecting his call replaced the deep, quiet voice he hoped to hear.

It was the final solution he arrived at after emailing that all too familiar email address and getting no reply. As carefully as he sorted through his junk mail, he still did not get the long awaited message.

So, writing the letter became the last resort for him.

He had already exhausted all means of communication, all attempts at trying to reach the other, his respected senpai.

_'Dear Yanagi-senpai,'_ he wrote. His salutation literal rather than formal, for the other was truly dear to him. _'How are you? I hope you're well.'_

He didn't mention himself. He didn't mention how he was doing in a foreign country across the seas. He didn't mention how his tennis training was going. He didn't mention how his family called him up early that morning to tell him of the tragic news, about the disaster that tore up his beloved hometown country. He didn't tell him how they were all safe and sound.

That didn't matter to him.

All he wanted to know, was how the other was doing. Because he had not heard from the other.

In the end, he mailed that three-lined letter. The ink-scripted words looking lonely and awkward taking up only the first few lines of the letter paper; the scrawny characters appeared as if they were silently wishing for more companions.

In the end, he didn't write anything else than the three lines, for the simple sentences revealed his feelings so fittingly. He stuffed all of his loneliness and hope into that thin envelope, hoping it would carry to the other what he wished to express, what he hoped the other would understand.

He sealed the envelope. An hour later, he stood in line in the post office, the letter in hand. He sent it off through express airmail.

Then, he spent the next few days waiting for the reply.

His days passed before his eyes like a movie being fast forwarded. He had been a part of that movie; he engaged in the daily rituals that he was meant to engage in as the character in his role: go to school, go to tennis practice, sleep, eat, finish his homework, and most importantly, check his mailbox. Yet, there was a part of him that wandered elsewhere.

That part of him watched him, watched as his life flew by, his physical body unaffected by the changes in day and night: one day, two days, one week, two weeks.

Until the earthquake and tsunami were no longer in the headline news or in people's exchange over lunch. Until people stopped pushing for donations at street corners.

Until he felt as if the entire event had been a mere dream...

What he finally received, laying alone as if forgotten in his mailbox, was that letter he wrote so long ago.

And the blue ink stamped across the front.

_"Return to Sender."_

Because the address was unknown.

Because the address no longer existed.

And the person he sent it to might as well stopped existing.

Because the person he sent it to might as well be a nobody.

He had written a letter to nobody. 

* * *

**11\. Monotone**

* * *

**NOTES:** AU. Passerby 3rd person POV. Yukimura x Yanagi. Fairytale-like elements. Kind of creepy?

* * *

Winter.

The first time he saw him was on the snowy night he settled in his new house.

A thin light aura surrounded the youth as he stood in his backyard, the snowflakes descending slowly like petals around him.

He thought the youth's pure white kimono made him blend in with his snowy environment so well that if it had not been the red paper umbrella in his grasp, he would have easily dismissed his presence.

The youth peered at him quietly.

Wait. That was not so much of an accurate description.

The youth hid his eyes behind closed lids. He wondered if the youth was even looking at him at all.

Regardless, he still gawked at the other with his mouth hanging opening. He wanted to say something, to ask for the youth's identity, to question his intentions for barging into someone else's backyard, to inquire him on where he came from.

Yet, he could only stare. He was mesmerized by the other's flawless appearance. He was awed by the other's magnificence. He felt himself return to his childhood, to the day he first witness snowfall in his hometown when he was still under the protective care of his parents.

Then, childhood passed and adulthood arrived. There was nothing special about the snow he witnessed frequently each winter. And he was no longer under his parents' protection. He has learned independence.

As he thought of his conditions now, he gazed once again at the snow that he was quickly losing interest in. The snow and the flawless youth succeeded only in the temporarily revival of that innocence in the past.

When he looked outside again, the youth was gone. Just like that temporarily revived feelings of childhood curiosity and awe.

...

The months of winter came and passed.

He caught sight of the youth a few more times after their initial encounter.

The youth appeared whenever it snowed. But he was unsure whether it was the youth who brought the snow, or the snow that brought the youth.

The other always stood in his backyard: kimono fluttering in the chilly wind, red paper umbrella opened to protect him from the precipitation.

He wanted to tell the other to go away, to stop invading his privacy, to never come back.

Yet, whenever he pulled open the door leading to the veranda overlooking his backyard, the youth he saw from the windows in his house would already be gone.

The other left no footprints. It was as if he never set foot on his property.

...

March 21st.

The calendar announced the arrival of a new season.

But the weather told of an extended cold.

It snowed again.

He sat before his study table. The sliding door of his room stood ajar as he propted himself on an elbow on the wooden surface, He looked out, waiting.

The snow continued falling, today, heavier than ever.

Naturally, the brunet appeared in the haze of flurries, garbed in his usual white kimono, holding his usual red paper umbrella.

They faced each other now.

He felt himself almost dozing off from the inactivity, from the silence made quieter by the snowfall outside.

Until, he observed the smile on the youth's face.

It served as a great contrast to the expressionless facade he wore all this time like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Alarmed, he saw the white flakes melt away to streaks of clear rain.

Would the youth disappear as the result of this change?

He wanted to know. Curious, he stood, taking small, steady steps up to the door.

As spontaneously as the youth had appeared, another figure joined the youth to serve as the relief of his solitude.

It was another youth, with hair and kimono that matched the depths of the ocean. He had his eyes set only upon the youth in white.

They confronted each other. They smiled gently at one another. They approached each other. Then, the finale of their careful and deliberate, almost ceremonial, actions became their union under the red paper umbrella. They embraced.

Then... That was the end, really. They disappeared together.

When he came to, he realized he was already standing at the edge of his veranda. He had, perhaps, ventured too close to them and, as a result, threatened their territory.

More precipitation descended from the sky.

When he reached out hesitantly, a droplet of wintry mix landed upon his opened palm.

It was a droplet of rain mixed with a flake of snow.

As if the rain was embracing the snow.

* * *

**12\. Tale**

* * *

**NOTES:** Strangeness. Analytical conversation. Sanada & Yanagi. Sanada POV.

* * *

_During the Sung Dynasty, there lived an artist who only painted images of horses._

_His goal was to paint 108 horse pictures, each presenting a horse in a different pose._

_Because of his skill and talent, he quickly finished 107 paintings. But there was one painting left, one he was having extreme difficulty in creating. In his final painting, he wanted to paint a dead horse, lying on its back and all four hooves reaching to sky._

_He tried and he tried, but inspiration just would not come to him. He thought about the dead horse when he ate, he thought about it when he slept, he thought about the dead horse nonstop._

_Until, one day he grew so tired that he laid down in bed for a nap._

_That was when his wife walked in. She screamed when she saw him on the bed._

_Her shrill scream awoke him immediately and he asked her what had occurred._

_She replied, confused. "Where did you come from? There was a dead horse on the bed you were sleeping on."_

"Now, the question becomes," Sanada spoke after narrating this story to his companion, "Had the painter thought so hard about the dead horse that he, himself, became the dead horse he wanted to paint, or had his wife seen an illusion in her madness?"

"...Or," Renji added, "due to the influence of her husband, her mind had been so preoccupied with the images of horses that it fooled her to see a dead horse in her husband?"

"If the point of the story is for us to discard reality and allow nothing to limit our minds, then anything is possible."

The two of them laid on their futons spread side by side. They both peered through the darkness to the ceiling up above. They stared hard, as if trying to focus their gaze on a certain speck straight ahead like their minds concentrating on a single subject.

This was a ritual the two of them engaged in when they slept over each other's houses. They took turns telling short stories, parables, perhaps, which usually generated a small discussion. Though, the ritual at times did nothing to aid their sleep, for the heat of their argument burned and destroyed all somnolence that dared to approach. While, other times, their battered minds resulting from an extensive verbal battle quickly fell prey to sleep.

Sleep should have been induced naturally tonight after they reached the agreement that anything was possible in the world of fiction.

It was the solution he proposed as the conclusion of their argument. It should have been enough to convince him to retire for the night.

But he does not.

His mind would not rest, for it has not yet found solid evidence to support his statement.

Fiction or nonfiction, the mind was a thing that should not be limited.

He turned to his companion who was supposed to be slumbering on the futon next to his.

Sanada's eyes widened, as if he was attempting to see through the mirage of the elusive night.

His hand reached out, crossing the boundary between their futons.

His fingertips brushed against the smooth surface of a single petal on a blooming lotus flower.

* * *

**Explanation:**

Wait. I know what you're thinking: WTF? It's okay. I totally understand.

This is a story within a story. While the painter's wife saw a dead horse in the painter's position, Sanada sees a single lotus blossom in Yanagi's position. Because the two stories are similar, the questions that Sanada and Yanagi were discussing about the painter's tale apply to their own situation towards the end as well. However, the only difference is, while it is revealed to you that obsession was the reason the painter "became" the image he wanted to paint, the reason to why Yanagi became that lotus flower in the end was never really touched upon.

It was simply another allusion to the flower in Yanagi's name. Regardless of how old and cliched the allusion is, I never grow tired of using it. XD

The sentence before the last, where Sanada "crosses the boundary," is actually a suggestion that he is crossing from reality to fantasy. But, of course, the boundary between reality and fantasy is not the only boundary he is crossing...

* * *

**13\. Crimson**

* * *

**NOTES:** Weirdness. Sweet, but not your typical romance fic. Analytical conversation. Akaya x Yanagi. Yanagi POV.

* * *

When they sat down to study together in his room, Akaya presented him with an item, a red ornate silk pouch.

He accepted the item with a small smile of gratitude. It was characteristic of the other to give him small gifts from time to time as demonstration of his affection during their relationship. He was used to it.

When he opened the pouch, he carefully extracted its contents. The object revealed itself to him.

It was a red coral mala (1), accentuated with clear quartz crystal markers, completed with a red tassel.

Once he had eyes upon such an item, he found himself attracted as he became completely absorbed in silent admiration.

The coil of beads was stunning.

"Red, the color of fervent passion." He analyzed its color composition. Finally able to tear his gaze away, he looked back to the other, amused. "Will you enlighten me, Akaya? What were your thoughts when you made such a purchase? Was there a link that you established between this item and I?"

"You might not relate well to this color, Yanagi-senpai. The colors that suit you better must be white, or blue, for your peace."

His kouhai stopped talking momentarily, the hazy and distant look in his eyes gave Renji the evidence that the other was searching for the right combination of words to continue their conversation.

The other was a deep person in his own way. Kirihara Akaya was not just about playing video games or failing English exams. Kirihara Akaya had his own way of analyzing things and synthesizing new information.

Renji knew, for it was the other's own individual genius that attracted him and persuaded him to establish a romantic relationship with the other.

"Actually, it wasn't really about you." Akaya finally admitted. "It was really about my secret wish to paint you with my color."

"Hm… Is that so?" His hands went to undo the buttons of his white shirt. He pulled the material back to reveal his neck and chest. "The color of the marks that you left on my skin was much like the color of this mala, was it not?"

Red, like the coral beads.

Red, like the other's name.

Red, like the other's color.

Yet, the other shook his head.

"It's different, Yanagi-senpai."

Akaya's hand reached out. The tips of his fingers ran along each kiss mark on his skin as if tracing a path on an opened map.

"When I first made these marks, they were the color that intended for them to be. But over time, they became purple then blue, then, they faded until they were the color of your skin again. You never kept the color that I gave you in the beginning."

The corner of his lips curved up at an angle of irony. Renji confirmed, "Passion eventually fades to serenity, and serenity to apathy. That is what you mean?"

"That's why, I wanted to give you something that will hold my color."

The loneliness tinged his voice, lingering even as he trailed off.

Renji decided to play the devil's advocate still, even when it meant he was attacking the other at his state of vulnerability.

"But, you must know, Akaya, that nothing is permanent. The red coral mala that you are giving me today may someday fade away to orange, to pink, and ultimately be as white as crystal quartz. Before the arrival of that day, can you not say that the color you claim to be yours will inevitably surrender itself to the same transformation as well?"

Frowning, the other sulked.

"…Just because you're all analytical doesn't mean you can confuse me, Yanagi-senpai."

Amused, Renji continued unhurriedly.

"You say that my most fitting colors are white and blue. But, did you know that red is my secret color?

My calm and logic are not valid evidence to prove that I do not have something that I am secretly passionate about.

Similarly, your usual abundance of energy and passion cannot give one the excuse to overlook your moments of tranquility and reflection when defining the wholeness of your character. It is because of those rare moments that we are able to hold such a conversation now."

"Then, Yanagi-senpai. Since you already know so much about me, won't you tell me what you're passionate about?"

A sincere request.

Seeing the determination in the other's eyes lifted Renji's lips. It was at an angle of temptation.

"What do you think, Akaya?" His fingers curled around the strand of mala as he lifted it to his lips. It appeared as if he was feasting on the crimson essence of life. "Even when the color that you paint onto my skin continues to change and fade away, you still would have to continue paining, do you not?"

The other's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yanagi-senpai…"

"It is the only way." The look in his eyes enticed the other when he revealed his amber depths to him.

Slowly, the other's surprise sank, and one corner of his lips rose devilishly.

At the same time, he detected a ruby glint in the other's emerald depths. When the other blinked again, the contrast was gone.

"Of course, senpai."

Then, Akaya reached out to pull the mala from Renji's lips and leaned in offering his lips instead.

* * *

**14\. Wound Care**  

* * *

**NOTES:** Akaya & Yanagi. Non-slash. Akaya POV. Sensitive material.

* * *

His beloved senpai once told him that one's emotional state during his tea preparation had heavy influence on the taste of the final product.

That was why, one should always be emotionally aware during the course of his tea preparation.

That was why, regardless of the other's stoic presentation, Akaya could consume the tea the other whisked and still understand his senpai's current mood.

That was why, he didn't dismiss the overwhelming bitterness that lingered upon his tongue as another irrelevant detail after he consumed the contents in the tea bowl.

The matcha his senpai used was of premium quality. Therefore, if it wasn't the matcha itself that produced the astringency, it had to be the emotions the other whisked into the frothy liquid.

"How was it, Akaya?" Came the usual question. His senpai posed it after each bowl of tea consumed.

Instead of praising the other on his refined skill like he normally does, he chose to remain silent this time.

Serious determination sharpened his sight as his eyes scanned his perfectly composed senpai before him.

Something lurked beneath that perfection.

He reached out then, carefully picking up the hand that rested neatly upon the other's lap. With his other hand, he pushed the sleeve of the kimono back, revealing the other's forearm.

What he discovered did not surprise him. After all, the contents of the tea already revealed such the truth to him.

His own name always served as a real irony to him. Kirihara Akaya. " _Kiri_ " meant "cut," while " _aka_ " meant "red." Red like blood.

He had always sustained cuts and bruises, and have been covered in dirt and blood in childhood. Then, he entered the tennis club in junior high and achieved victories by cutting his opponents with his shots and making them bleed.

His own name always served as a real irony to him, because it fit him so well. Yet, in the current situation, he found it even more ironic that his name would fit another just as perfectly.

Criss-crossing, deep and shallow, long and short cuts covered his senpai's arm; the scabs still glowed bright red.

With a cool voice contradicting the storm gathering up inside him, he asked, "What are these, Yanagi-senpai?"

"Gashes." The other answered plainly, as if speaking about something as natural as the weather.

Gashes. That meant something else for him. Those were the things that the boys in his class always joked about when they stereotyped "the emos." Those were the things that they would humorously demonstrate through holding a plastic knife to saw at their wrists in an exaggerating manner.

He had laughed when everyone else laughed. Yet, only till this day did he realize that when he did so, he also mocked the senpai he respected the most.

"Why did you do this?"

The other did not say anything at first.

It was until he grasped the other's hand, supporting it with both of his, and pleaded to the other with sincerity that the answer revealed itself to him.

The other told him about the one thing that set him apart from the rest of the world.

That one thing defied tradition. That one thing defied society's expectations. That one thing defied normality.

Thoughts of that single difference piled inside his mind, just as the pain that those repetitive thoughts built up inside his heart.

The other was overwhelmed.

The other needed to release the internal pain externally somehow before his mind crumbled and his heart collapsed.

Self-mutilation was the only solution he found.

He listened attentively to the other's succinct explanation. The other's revelation did not bother him.

Maybe, he thought, the other instinctively knew he wasn't going to overreact when he told him such things.

Or maybe, the other already knew he was also...

"Gay, huh?" He smirked carelessly. "Since you've just come out of the closet, then there's no point in me hiding…"

As he suspected, the other simply nodded in acceptance upon his own confession. Sometimes he wondered if there was anything that could surprise his keen senpai.

But that didn't matter now.

He had to talk his beloved senpai out of self-harm.

"Senpai, I know that you must be bothered by everyone's expectations of you, but you can't change who you are. Harming yourself won't change anything. Just like, I am who I am. If I must blame someone, I will blame those who created a monster like me."

He could tell the effect of his words on the other when the older teen showed the slightest expression of surprise. The other's usual role as his mentor now fell upon him.

Sometimes, life was just filled with such irony.

Taking his current role further, he continued, "You know, Yanagi-senpai, I'm glad you showed me who you are. I'm glad we're the same."

He squeezed the other's hand.

They were each other's support now.

* * *

**15\. Lust**

* * *

**NOTES:** Physical Akaya x Yanagi. Lascivious!Yanagi.

* * *

"I cannot give you what you want, Akaya."

"How do you know what I would ask for? And maybe, what I ask for might be simpler than you think, senpai."

Yanagi reached out to grasp the other's hand and laced their fingers together. Doing so it felt almost as if he held the other's warm, beating heart.

"This is what you want." Yet, almost instinctively acting upon his discomfort, he shook off the other's grip and freed his hand. "But, I'm not the one to provide that to you."

"Senpai..." The other wanted to protest, but Yanagi cut him off.

"Akaya, friends with benefits don't make the best lovers. If you wanted a serious, committed relationship, then you should not have began by bedding someone."

Then, all those years of growing up and gaining experience pulled his lips into a lascivious smile as he lied on his stomach and slid down to curl his hand around the other's erection instead. Yanagi dipped down, mouth hovering close to the tip as if whispering to the other's lust.

* * *

**16\. Triangle**

* * *

**NOTES:** Strangeness. Analytical conversation. Lurking pairings.

* * *

"So, to review, define each triangle using you own words. Equilateral."

"The distance between each point is the same for all points."

"In your _own_ words, Akaya."

"Okay, okay. Don't look so scary, Yanagi-senpai." He cleared his throat. "All sides are the same length and all angles measure the same."

A nod. "Isosceles."

"...Uh... Two sides are the same length..."

"And two angles are of the same measurement."

He scratched his head. "Oh, right... Heh heh..."

"Next is scalene."

"That one I know! It's when all the sides and angles are messed up and unequal!"

Another nod. "That would suffice. Now, look at problem number 23, triangle GSR. How would you define this triangle?"

"It's an scalene triangle!" He blurted out without hesitation.

"Akaya, look at the problem on the paper instead of my face before you answer. Try again."

He glared at the polygon. "...It's...an equilateral triangle?"

"Correct."

His head shot up then. "The book is wrong, Yanagi-senpai! There is no way triangle GSR is an equilateral triangle!"

* * *

**17\. Fog**

* * *

**NOTES:** Extra drabble to "Spring Tree Above the Village." Strangeness.

* * *

_"Life is like a train ride." Slender fingers touched the window glass. Their owner looked outside to the fresh autumn day. The sky cloudless and endlessly blue. The sun bright and hovering high above. "A very long train ride. It's sunny now, but who knows what's going to happen in another 30 miles? Maybe we'll get rain. Maybe even snow."_

_The bluenet turned and sent a sunny smile in his direction. Funny how he didn't remember he, himself, being there when his friend spoke those words. But the other was there, in his memory. It was as if a photograph had been taken and someone had edited him out with Photoshop. In this case, maybe he was the one to edit himself out of this particular memory._

_"Life is like a train ride." Then the other paused and laughed. "Actually, I_ wish _life_ was _as simple as a train ride. Then you'd know clearly where you're going, right?"_

His memory ended there. Like the end of a video clip, his mind stopped playing that certain day's events at that certain point. Though, he couldn't figure out why he cut the memory off there.

Now, returning to the present, he found himself sitting with his elbow propped up against the window sill, his curled fingers supporting his chin. He stared out the train.

Life is like a train ride, his companion had said. The companion he took a long and meaningful journey with a year ago.

If life was like a train ride, what if he couldn't see anything outside the window? A thick fog shrouded everything, every place the train ran past, in white density.

It was not like the segments of sunshine and segments of rainfall that lasted only over the span of a few miles. This fog lasted, stretching out for miles and miles. It didn't seem like it would end soon. It didn't seem like it was going away.

If life truly was like a train ride his companion had said, then did this obscurity he faced now apply to the part of his life he left untouched since that certain trip, or was it merely a manifestation of his unknown future?

* * *

**BONUS. Replacement Proposal**

* * *

**NOTES:** Sanada x Yanagi. Pseudo Sanada x Yukimura. One-sided Inui x Yanagi. College timeline. Mental turmoils. Hints of lime. ANGST. Sanada POV. Faulty language and word use. Yukimura doesn't actually make an appearance in this fic. Neither does Inui.

* * *

_He was sick._

_He knew he was. Some sort of sickness had invaded his mind and contaminated his dreams._

_Sanada dreamed of that certain cerulean-haired boy whose image his mind refused to discard even when unconscious. In his dreams, he was doing something to the other. That something was inappropriate between people of their gender. That something was detrimental to the other's fragile body._

_In his dream, he attained physical satisfaction._

_Yet, the sticky discomfort he awoke to mocked and humiliated him._

_..._

Everyone eagerly made sacrifices for independence.

Ironically, in the end, however, some would come to question whether it had really been worthwhile in the first place.

Upon his entrance to college, Sanada proposed to leave home like his brother before him, for the contribution it would make to his independence as a man. Both his father and grandfather agreed without argument.

Sanada invited Renji to live with him.

Because he was the only one he could ask. He was the only one attending the same college.

Everyone else traveled elsewhere. Everyone else, including their cerulean-haired friend.

The former Rikkai Regulars who once stuck together in a tight pack of alliance now dissipated.

Everyone traveled a different path. Everyone sought a different destination. Everyone, including their cerulean-haired friend.

To him, bidding farewell to that boy was like bidding a dream farewell. Dream always appeared brightest and most magnificent when one waved them goodbye.

Only he and Renji remained together. Only they had the same destination.

For some reason, the idea calmed his disappointment, his regret of being unable to walk beside the one he wanted to follow.

...

Insomnia was a visitor who never made appointments for rendezvous.

Introduced by fortune, he received insomnia as his guest one night.

After endless hours of tossing and turning, he finally decided to stay up to begin the paper his history professor assigned.

Full-time college students valued precious sleep time. Many did not have enough idle time for it. Ironically, those who did have time, chose to bed worry and anxiety instead.

After a page of scribbles and scratches, he noticed his thirst and went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

The door to Renji's room stood ajar when he passed it.

He heard heavy panting accompanying the tortured squeaks from the springs of a cheap mattress. He saw the other's body tremble violently as if in convulsion. Concerned, he entered the room.

"Renji..." Sanada began. He froze when he realized what the other was doing.

His eyes widened.

The other slammed his eyes shut so forcefully that he made deep indentations between his brows. He watched white serpents of passion slither down the other's hand as endearment escaped the other's lips, "Sadaharu..."

Then, the other awoke from his trance, his eyes opening to stare directly into his surprised ones.

Disgust distorted his face. Anger retrieved his voice. "Have you no shame?"

The other's calm and apathy proved his words to be a harmless attack. Renji sat up slowly, adjusting his sleep pants. Pulling a tissue from a box beside his bed, he answered lazily. "Everyone has secrets..."

The contemptuous gleam in his amber eyes dared him to deny such statement. That look made him gulp down the protest at the tip of his tongue.

"Don't tell me you don't have your own sick fantasies."

...

If insomnia had a twin, it would be change.

Change, like insomnia, many times arrived unannounced.

It was unfortunate that some people could not adapt to its presence promptly.

After that incident, he dreamed the same dreams of that certain cerulean-haired boy. Yet, those dreams evolved into something else once that spring of his prized memories dried up and became a barren wasteland.

In his dream, he did not attain physical satisfaction.

Yet, the same state of sticky discomfort remained unchanged when he awoke in the morning.

Maybe illusions no longer satisfied his mind; it could now tell the difference between dream and reality.

...

_If Renji could, then why couldn't he?_

_..._

If many things could be accomplished individually, why did people still form alliances and partnerships?

Every history textbook proved, no great civilization consisted of a single man.

At first, he chose to disregard the other's twisted habit.

Then, he remembered, he was sick. He was sick, mentally.

His body sought physical gratification. But self-gratification could not satisfy his mind.

The liquid heat of his release dripping from his hand matched the stickiness he awoke to in the mornings after his dreams.

As fulfilling as release felt, it was still empty.

What he really desired was not the feel of his own heat, but the warmth of another.

Isolation could only be cured with company.

"You want to forget the one from your past." It wasn't a question. It was an offer he made, as awkward as it sounded. Its unapparent presentation protected his pride and dignity.

He could not bring himself to as low as to demanding sex.

But he knew the other would understand. The other always did. He was sharp.

The other looked at him with the same calm and indifferent face, as if he had expected such a proposal all along.

Nothing escaped his calculations and expectations. "In truth, that is only your secondary intention. Your true intention... You must also want to forget a certain someone from your past, from _our_ past."

He sprung up like a threatened cat. "That is not-...!"

Renji cut him off. "It is fine. You will be a replacement to me, and in return, I will serve as a replacement for you. That way, both of us are satisfied."

...

It seemed amazing how deprivation and neglect could generate a positive product.

The fountain he stored his memories of that certain cerulean-haired boy dried up.

In its place, a single memory of his youth sprouted until it grew to a fertile forest, something he had no intention of constructing.

It appeared as if his dreams went through some sort of purification. Those pointless wet dreams that he had been getting before, became but innocent remembrances and sepia flashbacks of his neglected past, of his childhood with Renji before the other had moved away to Tokyo. They included mellow moments he shared with the other through junior high and beyond that only resulted in the fortifying of their relationship foundation.

Those were the memories that were deprived his attention when his mind refused to forsaken the image of that cerulean-haired boy even only momentarily.

He did not attain physical satisfaction from these new memories, but his mind received a small measure of peace.

When he regained consciousness, there was no sticky discomfort that often resulted from his dreams from before.

And he thought back to the other's accusation, to how he, too, used him as a replacement for another.

If this was so, then why didn't his perverted dreams of that certain cerulean-haired boy merely be replaced with perverted dreams of the other?

...

Success became the magnifying glass for failure.

His academic achievements accentuated the decline in his relationship with the other.

If initiating the co-beneficiary relationship was much like falling into an abyss, then he was nearing the end of the pit. Or so, he thought.

At the height of their intimacy, his heard the other murmur another name.

"...Sadaharu..."

That name numbed him, destroying the bliss he usually experienced in his release. His sight could only focus on the erratic rises and falls of his roommate's chest as the other pumped oxygen back into his lungs.

"You were thinking of him again." What was meant to be discharged into their conversation as a statement became an accusation instead.

A pause. "Was that not the reason we engaged in such an activity in the first place?"

The other's aloofness fueled his irritation. "Have you no shame?"

Renji turned to him, unmoved. "What about you? What does that make you then? Don't tell me that the whole time you were doing such a thing with me, you were not thinking of someone else."

"…"

"...You are a replacement to me... Just like I am a replacement to you..." Sarcasm lifted one lip corner. "I thought we agreed on this already."

He wanted to yell, to argue with him. _"No, that's not why I engaged in such an activity with you in the first place!"_

But he doesn't say anything. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't say anything.

He did not know whether his silence meant that he agreed with the other, or he was just too upset to voice his dissatisfaction.

Renji must have assumed the former. He leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Of course, it will be fine if _you_ want to call out that certain name when we do this."

His fists balled as if he was strangling Renji's words in his palms. Climbing out of bed, he snatched his clothes up from the floor. He stomped out of the room because he knew what his fists were capable of doing if he didn't.

He did not want to lose a battle against his temper.

...

He awakes.

There is no one in bed with him. It made last night seem like a passing dream.

...

Aesthetic practices were only privileges, luxuries, granted to students in small blocks of leisure time on the weekends.

It was only when he found the other in a quiet corner in the living room conducting tea ceremony that he remembered it was the weekend.

Sanada looked at the formal, proper Renji before him. He acted as if nothing happened the previous night. He acted as if he was still that Renji from junior high: the Renji that he thought he knew.

The quiet Renji. The reasonable Renji. The proper Renji.

Then, their relationship happened.

The Renji from the past now becomes the Renji now.

The stranger.

Rage stirred up a commotion in his gut. _'This is not you! You're fake.'_

He rushed over to that once undisturbed, quiet corner, plowing through and knocking over the other's setup like a madman.

"You're a liar! You're a fake!"

Out of control, he lunged at his roommate and pressed him to the floor.

He pulled at the tidy folds and creases of Renji's dark kimono to reveal the sunlight-deprived pale flesh beneath. The fresh red marks upon the smooth skin served as the only evidence that proved yesterday's existence; last night wasn't just another dream.

Though, even without proof, he knows that last night was not a dream, for he had never had perverted dreams of the other. It was only in reality, only during their activity that the scenes playing before him are sick and perverted.

"You are not the Renji I know."

The other replied to his accusation with a mere curve of lips.

He could almost say that it looked sad. Almost.

Renji did not struggle, did not push him off. He just laid there.

"Then... who is the Renji you know? Maybe you don't even know who Renji is." The other peered up at him in a nonchalant manner through the crescent cracks of his eyes. "Just like, I do not know who you really are, either."

Renji's hand reached out unhurriedly to seal his vision in darkness. "It is ironic that you cannot see the real me, while all along you have been using your eyes to look at the one I was to replace."

Through the darkness Renji creates with his hands covering his eyes, he sees a door.

It was the structure he saw often when he walked by the other's room that indicated to him of the other's rejection for physical contact that day. The other was busy with school work.

Behind the door, was the other at his best, in the best qualities he remembers admiring about him: patient, studious, diligent.

He had not seen such a sight of the other ever since college, ever since they chose to major different subjects, ever since they stopped studying together.

...

Sanada didn't dream.

Because he didn't sleep.

_"You are but a replacement to me... Just like I am but a replacement to you."_

Renji words combined into a spell. That spell cursed him with insomnia.

So, to smother the irksome voice in his mind, he diverted his attention to his school work.

Sometimes, he gets so tired that he falls asleep right on his study table.

He was used to waking up upon the pillow of books atop his desk.

As he scurries to gather up his books during those mornings, he doesn't have time to think about the dreams he had the previous night.

In his fatigue and rush, he could barely concentrate enough to recall if he even had any.

...

Winter approached.

All the trees and shrubs trembled, losing their vibrant-colored leaves upon feeling the chilly presence.

It was almost final exams week.

He spends the majority of his time in the library, burying his face in books and papers and sitting at a corner table, isolated from all the other students.

After that day, he tried to spend as little time as possible at the apartment.

Because he was in poverty of speech. Because he was in poverty of actions.

He was only in poverty when he faced the other.

Finally, after hours of hovering over his work, he looked up from the text he highlighted to rest his eyes.

He spotted a familiar figure afar. He didn't know whether it was the distance that made his figure appear more delicate than usual or whether it had been the overwhelming combination of school work, sleep deprivation, and nutritional imbalance.

He studied the other's serious face, as if studying an important component in his textbook. The other, deeply absorbed in his own studies, took no notice of him.

He gets the illusion that they were back to the old times when they sat together, one across another, studying together.

It almost resembled the past, minus the distance.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw the other rise from his seat. The other would arrange for his departure, he assumed. Most of the other students had already left after dark.

Yet, the other did not collect the materials still lying on the table. He realized, then, the other was not yet leaving.

He rose to pursue the other.

Upon entering the public bathroom, his eyes immediately found his companion at the sink meticulously washing his hands.

When the other hesitated, seeing his reflection in the mirror, he takes the opportunity to pull him by his wrist into a stall, locking the door behind them.

The other was still as calm as always. He wondered what he has to do to break through the icy thickness of his façade.

Opening his mouth to speak, Renji's voice sounded mirthless. "Let go."

Like him, the other hated to be interrupted during his studies. His insides stirred impatiently in excitement when familiarity moved him.

He recognized this Renji.

Liberated from his previous discontent, he pressed him up against the wall and sealed the lips only capable of muttering freezing words.

Renji struggled, but still could not free himself.

Eventually, he pulled away. A glimpse at fatigue's shadow under his companion's eyes elicited some feelings of guilt. But he doesn't let go.

"You will not choose a more appropriate time for this, will you?" Completely surrendering his struggles, Renji turned away in displeasure. "Make it quick."

Having hypothesized that it was highly unlikely someone would intrude at this time perhaps became the other's only reason for allowing him to proceed.

He gave him no time to fantasize, no time to prepare, no time to become the replacement he agreed upon becoming. He quickly ripped away the fabric that concealed his skin.

As he watched the other bite back his moans stubbornly, he only tightened his grip on the other's hips and quickened his rhythm.

...

_This ends now. Today._

_..._

The final exams ended as unexpectedly as they started.

Not only the final exams, actually. The entire first semester of college ended as unexpectedly as it started.

He became the first one to arrive back at their apartment after his own exams.

The strange feeling of light relief was something he was unfamiliar and unaccustomed to.

Thinking no more, he entered the kitchen to make dinner preparations.

The beat of his knife on the wooden cutting board is interrupted by the _thud_ from the front door. He exited the kitchen to watch Renji making his way to his room lethargically.

Almost automatically, his feet propelled him forward as he followed Renji to his room.

Renji fell asleep the moment he collapsed onto his bed. Being thoughtful, he covered him with a blanket.

As he watched his companion's sleeping face, he mused: This was the true Renji. Even though it was not the Renji he came to know after all these years.

College made him more delicate, more vulnerable from the impact of its heavy duties and responsibilities.

While families and friends supported their invincibility in junior high and high school, college shattered their scrupulously assembled might.

They were but average college students struggling to adapt to another transition in life after having separated from the support systems they came to know all this time.

As if mesmerized by the other's tranquil face, he sank down carefully on the bed beside the other.

"I don't care about the person you were from yesterday. I don't care about the person you were from years ago." He began solemnly, voice as hushed as a faint whisper. "If you claim that I do not know you all this time, then let me meet you again. And I shall introduce myself to you again."

He paused, as if waiting for the other's approval. The approval that would not come because deep slumber deafened the other.

One mouth corner lifted in a half-smile of self-mockery.

"So, will you introduce me to yourself, to Yanagi Renji? Will you only let me see Yanagi Renji, and not anyone but Yanagi Renji? And I will be Sanada Genichirou. I will not be anyone but myself."

A pause, still.

Silence, still.

Then, a sigh. Disappointment released through exhalation.

He decided to allow his monologue to serve as practice, something that he needed greatly because his lack in proper communication skills.

Meanwhile, he reached out to take the other's hand in his. It was the first time he held the other's hand.

It gave him the illusion that they were confidants, instead of strangers whose relationship was built upon mutual physical satisfaction.

 


End file.
